


The Snow Day

by Margaret Ann (Manderson)



Category: Loki: Agent of Asgard, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Asgard, Asgardian Loki, Bullying, Childhood, Childhood Friends, Exams, Fencing, Gen, Kid Loki, Kid Loki and Kid Thor, Kid Thor, Snow, Snow Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 01:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5765731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Manderson/pseuds/Margaret%20Ann
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A seven-year-old Loki tries to get out of taking an unpleasant test.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Loki stretched and yawned, cozy and warm in his bed. The quilts were tucked around him snugly, and he was saddened by the sunlight pouring through his bedroom window. It sparkled, setting the golden towers of Asgard a-glitter. His dreams had been beautiful: his father, Odin, had allowed him the chance to ride Sleipnir, and he had gone galloping across Valhalla.

Now, unfortunately, he was awake. A new day was dawning outside, and he knew that he must go meet it. He threw off his covers and tiptoed around the toys and books scattered around his bedroom floor. Well, his half, anyway. There was a huge difference on either side of the invisible line device demarcating the barrier between his part of the room and that of his older brother, Thor.

Loki’s half of the room was—to the untrained eye—messy, but there always seemed to be some strange order to it: the army men were arranged in tight battle formations, the books formed the terrain of famous battles, the dirty laundry…okay, to be fair, that was all legitimately just left out. Thor’s side of the room, on the other hand, was neat and tidy. His bed was already made and his dirty pajamas were piled neatly in the hamper.

Glancing at the position of the sun, Loki could tell that he wasn't late, but he knew his mother, Frigga, would be hassling him to hurry up soon. Carelessly he stripped and put on his favorite green tunic, the one that looked like it had a cape in the back because the tail was so long. He added clean hose, boots, and a belt, ran his fingers through the dark mop of his hair, and left to hunt down some breakfast.

Thor was already sitting down at the kitchen table munching on herring and eggs. His friends Fandral, Hogun, and Volstagg were with him, laughing about some story Thor was telling. To the side sat Sif, the sullen, dark-haired girl who shadowed the others like a lost puppy. Loki rolled his eyes in her direction but slid into the seat beside his brother. “And here is the sleepyhead himself!” Thor boomed. His wheat-colored hair shone even in the candlelight, and he wiped his hands on his napkin. “We were just talking about you.”

“Oh, great,” Loki groaned, spearing a forkful of sausages and dragging them onto his plate. “Good things, right?”

“I was telling Hogan about your glorious battle in fencing class last Friday when he was off with his father surveying his realm,” Thor said, blue-gray eyes sparkling.

Loki groaned even louder, resisting the urge to hide his face in his hands. “I swear that practice blade was defective! There's no way that I could have done as badly if that was a decent blade.”

“Tell me, Loki Odinsson, into how many pieces did the metal shatter?” Fandral inquired archly.

Loki stuck his tongue out at his brother's companion as the others laughed. He took a bite of his sausage and reveled in the peppery, juicy taste.

“Luckily, you have three more days to practice before we graduate to more interesting weapons,” Thor said encouragingly, seeing his brother's distress. “You'll be able to get enough practice.”

“Because if you don't pass, I hear that you have to retake the entire course at daybreak,” Thor's portly companion, Volstagg, said around a mouthful of bacon, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

Loki coughed, choking on his food.  _ Kept back? _ He would have to be behind his brother, whom he had always managed to keep up with despite Thor’s natural size and inclination towards athletic pursuits. Sure, Loki excelled in their academic classes, but he desperately wanted to prove his worth as a warrior, not just a scholar. “Three days,” he muttered. “I can figure this out in three days.” He shoved another piece of sausage into his mouth and chewed.

\-----

But that afternoon’s fencing lesson didn't go very well, either. Instead of dancing around the yard lightly, like Fandral, or with natural power, like Thor, or even with a clumsy sort of menace, like Volstagg, Loki tripped over his own feet and nearly impaled himself on the rubber-tipped blade. Dust clogged his nose and dripped in muddy snot trails from his nostrils, and his body steadfastly refused to move the way he wanted. Instead, he was excused to see the nurse when the training dummy spun around and smacked him squarely in the back of the head. Dazedly, Loki sat on the table while the kindly old lady examined his scalp for bruises and blood. “I usually don't see you boys in here during the week,” she said.

“Ow!” the boy cried as her fingers found a lump. “It's that awful fencing class. I can't get it, no matter what I try. My body just doesn't want to do what I tell it.”

“We all have different talents, dear,” the nurse reassured him. “Just be thankful it isn't winter! If it were, they wouldn't even be able to let you outside to practice. That entire field turns to ice.”

“It does?” Loki asked, wincing as the nurse massaged some warming gel into his scalp.

“We insisted lessons cease for weather after Balder nearly took an eye out a few years ago,” she declared. “You should be grateful they only make you practice and pleasant weather.”

“Yes...” Loki murmured, an idea forming in his head.

\-----

 

“Do you have any books on snow?” Loki inquired of Snorri, the librarian.

“Snow, eh? A chilly subject for dear old Asgard,” the man laughed, pushing a pair of spectacles up on his nose. He stood behind his desk. He led Loki through the labyrinthine corridors of shelves. Literature and texts from all the nine realms—even Svartalfheim—filled the racks, and every tome had been meticulously curated and cataloged and organized by Snorri himself. The librarian stopped in front of a tall shelf stuffed with scrolls and faded volumes. “These are the only ones we have on snow here, since we don't often get it. Anything you want to borrow, bring it up to the desk.”

“Thank you,” Loki replied, already scanning the titles. Many were in scripts he didn't recognize, and the scrolls he bypassed completely. Finally, after a few more minutes, he found an old, leather-bound volume titled  _ Snow Rituals of Many Cultures _ . After a brief glance through it to ensure it had everything that would be helpful for him, he whispered, “This will hopefully do the trick. No stupid fencing test for me.”

\-----

Later that night, Loki sat on his bed, a pile of supplies around him. According to the book, one of the prayers for snow on Muspelheim involved taking a small piece of enchanted cloth, filling it with the fibers of a rare weed, and tying it to the windowpane with a strand of silk. The picture made it look like a little ghost or a doll.

Loki didn't have most of the materials called for by the book—he was pretty sure he'd never seen enchanted cloth, and rare plants were, well, rare. He picked up the sock he taken from Thor’s drawer and stuffed it with some lint he’d pulled from under his mattress. For silk cord he had some yarn he'd cut from an ugly sweater he'd purposely hidden at the bottom of his closet. The charm didn't look particularly like the image, but as he tied it to the frame of his window, he hoped it would be good enough. He gave it a friendly pat and dove into bed.


	2. Chapter 2

The next evening Loki gingerly flipped through the pages of the book once more. His entire hand was bandaged, and black and blue bruises spread beyond the wrappings. During the fencing lesson the instructor had paired them off, and Sif had given Loki no quarter. She often worked harder than the others to get the instructor to notice her talents, but today she been brutal. She was pissed that she'd been stuck with the worst member of the class, and every blow had come with an extra sting. The instructor had just shaken his head at the boy in disgust.

Obviously, the charm had failed.

Now he was glad to find another thing that could potentially work. According to the book, on Vanaheim people who wanted snow would take a shard of last year's ice and break it up with a hammer until it was in three pieces. Then they would throw those pieces up in the air and say a special incantation for snow. The words were written on the page, but the script just looked like a dozen or so scribbles with dots in circles scattered throughout. The translation was written beside it, though, in the margins. Loki scanned the words, jotted them down on a scrap of parchment, and headed out of the room.

The kitchen was a flurry of activity. While all the children had been fed and shuttled off towards homework, bath, and bed, the grown-ups were in the middle of their nightly carousing and revelry. In Odin’s vast dining hall heroes from all over the nine realms gathered together with Asgardians to eat of the never-ending boar Sæhrimnir and drink from the endless casks of mead supplied by Andhrimnir, the head chef. Down in the kitchens vegetables boiled in huge cauldrons and massive loaves of bread baked in the cavernous ovens and roasts of meat turned on great metal spits over roaring fires. The singing and shouting from the hall was but a dull roar in the kitchens, masked by the clanging of utensils on pots and the demands of the head chef. The kitchen’s temperature was at least twenty degrees higher than the corridor outside, and Loki could feel sweat spring to his forehead as he dodged the scurrying scullery maids.

Andhrimnir was barking orders and glared down at the boy when he approached. “What do you need? You already had dinner.”

“Please, I was wondering if I could have a small piece of ice. My head hurts, and it will help,” the boy wheedled.

Andhrimnir glared. “What do you think I am, a nursemaid for children? Get your own ice!”

Loki made his face do as pathetic as he could, biting his lip and tensing his chin into a puckered lump and drawing his brows into an upward slope. “My head hurts so much. I'll pass out if I don't get any ice. Then I'll get stepped on or tripped over, and someone will drop all the platters and then you will get in trouble.”

The head chef wrinkled his sharp forehead and rolled his eyes. With one meaty finger he pointed towards an alcove in the corner. “Cold room is over there. Grab some ice and take it with you. Get out of the way before I get your mother, banquet or no!”

The image of Frigga’s disappointed eyes flashed in Loki's mind, and he dashed off between the long preparation tables, sacks of flour, and hurrying workers. He slid on some salt and nearly fell on his face, but he managed to keep his balance just in time to reach the door.

The cold room was, as promised, freezing cold, and the stone walls were frosty and blue. Above, near the ceiling, was an enormous orb, which also glowed blue. It sustained the temperature and was fed by the ambient magics of the palace. Surrounding the them hung sides of meat: beef, boar, reindeer, antelope, and dozens of other carcasses of creatures which supplemented the Asgardians’ diet. There were barrels of salted herring and flaky cod. Nets overflowing with shellfish were sunk in briny slush.

Loki’s eyes widened as he looked around at the giant blocks of ice. One of the blocks was separated from the others and seemed a bit thicker and darker. The straw by it was a bit darker and more frozen, too. Shrugging (how was he to tell the age of ice, after all?), Loki went over to it. There was a metal chisel and a round-ended wooden mallet by the block, and Loki grabbed those. Setting the point of the chisel against the ice, he gave it a mighty  _ thwack _ . A chip of the ice no larger his longest finger flew off with great speed into the wall, shattering into dust. The next two blows had roughly the same effect, and frustration burned in the dark-haired boy’s skull. He finally drew back the mallet and hit the chisel with a resounding  _ crack _ . The piece of ice that broke off was about the same size of his palm held out flat. It skittered across the floor but, luckily, it remained whole. With a gleeful cheer he scooped it up. Leaving the tools where they lay, he slipped out of the kitchen.

It wasn't until he was back in his room that he remembered he was supposed to break the ice with a hammer. He could have used the mallet, he realized, but he didn't want to go back downstairs to the kitchen. He dug through his toy box looking for something that'd work. Nothing appeared. He sighed and sat back on his heels. “Hammer...hammer…aah!” Loki shot up like a spring and raced down the hall.

Downstairs in one of the treasure rooms there was a large, old, short-handled hammer that the dwarven blacksmiths had made long before Loki was born. It sat on a little table, its leather wrist strap dangling off the edge. The head of the hammer was huge, bigger even then Loki's own head, and it was traced all over with delicate engravings and designs. It almost seemed to glow and the steady lights of the security lamps. “Hammer…” Loki murmured, entranced.

Slowly, he crept forward until he stood right beside the table. He dropped the piece of ice on the grey stone tabletop and reached out for the hammer.

Just as his slender fingers were about to wrap around the shaft, a voice boomed behind him. “Loki Odinsson, step away from that hammer!”

Loki looked around, his heart pounding rapidly in his chest. In the doorway he saw the watchman, Heimdall, whose massive sword was strapped to his back and golden helmet shone on his head. Loki's outstretched hand trembled.

“I need a hammer for a project,” Loki said, swallowing hard.

“You need to go to bed before I call your father down here,” Heimdall ordered in his sonorous voice. His tawny eyes seemed to bore into the boy’s very soul.

Slowly, so slowly, he pulled his hand back to his side. “But the ice--”

“Go to bed!”

Loki scampered out of the room as if he were being chased by a herd of giant monsters, leaving his hard-begotten ice melting slowly on Mjolnir’s stand.


	3. Chapter 3

Thor was full of high spirits the next morning. Loki's brother often seemed as bright and vibrant as the glowing sun, while Loki tended to be as variable as the moon in mood. Today, though, Thor was even more obnoxiously cheerful than usual. He plopped down his plate of breakfast bacon and scrambled eggs at Loki’s side with a cheerful, “Good morning, brother!”

Loki raised one hand and reply and continued picking at his toast.

“I hear you were found last night in the store room,” Thor continued, raising a forkful of eggs to his lips. “Something about the hammer they keep secure down there.”

“I needed it for something,” Loki muttered.

“Father’s symbol of office, the symbol of his kingship?” the golden brother gasped, incredulous. “What need could you have of that?”

“I had to break some ice.” Loki crammed some bread in his mouth to preempt further questions.

Thor was not put off by “see” food, however. His mouth full of egg he said, “Perhaps you should spend less time sneaking around and more time preparing for tomorrow's swordplay test. Were you to ask nicely, I would probably agree to assist you in practicing.”

“Thanks,” the dark haired lad mumbled, swallowing the last of his breakfast. He stood up and carried his heavy crockery plate to the sink.  _ Tonight, for sure,  _ he thought.  _ Tonight I'll make it snow so tomorrow there will be no test. _

\-----

That evening he sat poring over the volume hunting for something--anything--guaranteed to work. He flipped the pages with an urgency born of nerves twisting in his belly. “There must be something!”

There were stories of pajamas worn inside out, ritual dances, sacrifices, fireworks shot in the air to seed the very clouds and create enough moisture to make it snow. Ice cubes placed under pillows. Paper snowflakes snipped and pasted on windowpanes. Sleeping with one's head on the foot board, or even sleeping outdoors.

He flung the book aside in distaste. “Nothing! Blasted book has nothing good enough to rescue me from that moronic test.” He lay back on the bed, fighting tears of frustration. Balling his fists, he pressed them to his eye sockets, digging his knuckles in until everything was dark.

After a long moment of deep breathing, Loki sat up once more. “Maybe I'll just give in and have Thor help me. If I ask nicely, he won't drag Fandral or Hogun or Volstagg along. Maybe if I promise to do all his math for a week he'll even keep it secret for more than three seconds.” He doubted this; the last time he told Thor something--even something silly, like when he said that he thought Sif would be better off going and hanging out with the other girls--and then asked Thor to keep it just between them, less than an hour later Sif had come up and punched Loki in the ‘nads.

Loki sighed and looked at the floor. Something sparkling in the book caught his eye, and he dropped to his knees beside it. Glittering on the yellowed paper were dozens of snowflakes, each surrounding a gaunt figure in a loincloth. It glistened in the moonlight, and beams of air shot from the creature’s palms. Wide-eyed, Loki examined the text on the opposite page.

Aloud he read, “The denizens of Jotunheim live in a world with plentiful ice and snow. Additionally, they're able to create it with magic flowing through their veins. A single Jotun, even untrained, can cause a massive storm, while it is believed among the Jotun that the storms which still rage across the Snjofloð on Jotunheim are the result of an ancient battle between two Jotun princes. For this reason the Jotun are colloquially known as ‘frost giants.’”

Loki looked up from the book. “That would be so brilliant,” he said. He laid the volume down on his bed and walked out onto the balcony overlooking one of the many courtyards of his home. “If I was a frost giant, I'd cause a gigantic storm, the biggest one this realm has ever seen! Then I would be able to skip that wretched test. There to be no more fencing ever if I had my way. I would just take a deep breath and focus really hard and think cold thoughts and then I'd point and--!”

From his outstretched hand a thick stream cold air poured. 


	4. Chapter 4

Before he could even react, dark clouds began to gather above the courtyard. Panic fluttered in Loki’s chest, and he gripped his wrist with his free hand and tried to pull it back. The icy chill seemed to have frozen it in place. Beneath the swirling beam surrounding his hand his skin was turning blue.

Loki began to gasp in pain as the chills set his body shivering. His blood felt like slush in his veins, and his muscles twitched and prickled. His vocal cords were stiff and tight, and he whispered, “Help…” Above him, the glowering clouds started spitting flakes and ice pellets. There was a dusting already on the verdant garden in the courtyard. Over the roar of the wind in his ears he could hear cries and screams below him.

“Help!” he screamed, tears flowing down his cheeks in streams, hair whipping in the wind. “Help me! I can't stop it!”

His heart was thudding wildly now, as fast as a hummingbird's wings, and he could barely get enough breath. Lights danced in front of his eyes, and his vision faded to black around the edges. His outstretched hand was completely blue, almost purple, his fingers petrified into claws. What scared him most of all was that he could no longer feel them.

The snow fell more quickly. 

Then, just as he felt that he was going to die, warm arms embraced him. He was rooted in place, but he leaned into that warmth like a weary traveler towards a fire. The air around him seem to still, and in his ear he heard his mother murmur, “Sleep.”

\-----

When Loki woke, the first thing he noticed was that he was not in his own bed. The mattress was softer, and the blankets drawn to his chin were thick and downy. The quality of the light was different--it seemed brighter, but less focused. He squinted against it, feeling a sharp pain in the back of his skull as he did so.

“Where am I?” he murmured.

“I'm here,” Frigga said, turning in her chair. She stood and came over to him. She laid a cool palm on his forehead, and Loki inhaled deeply of her familiar scent: lavender lotion and bread. “Your fever has gone down. How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Sore.” The lad shifted position and carefully sat up. “What happened?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” his mother replied tersely. “I found this in your room.”

Loki looked down at the book of snow rituals she had held out to him. A blush crept up his cheeks, and he resisted the urge to hide under the comforter. “I…”

Frigga leveled her gaze at her son. “Why did you do this?”

Still staring at the book Loki said, “I hate fencing.” When his mother didn't reply, he added, “I'm awful at it. It never goes how I imagine it should. Everyone, even Sif, always beats me. I trip over my own feet. I break the blade using it wrong. It doesn't matter how long I practice, either. I just...can’t.”

“And you wanted snow?” Frigga asked.

“If the field is icy, we can't have the test, and I can't fail a test that I am unable to take.” Saying the words aloud, Loki felt more than a little foolish. He hung his head.

His mother, though, just leaned in close and drew him to her. “My poor, poor boy,” she murmured.

“I just don't understand why it's so difficult for me, mother. Thor's good at all of the fighting and athletics. If either one of us could be king, then we both need to be good at it, right?” Loki pulled away and looked into her eyes.

“Your brother is talented in anything physical,” Frigga agreed. “But...there are things you can do well that he cannot.”

“Yeah, school things,” Loki muttered contemptuously.

“Those, too,” Frigga said. She paused, then after a moment she asked, “What if I told you that you need not ever take another class in weaponry?”

The boy’s head flew up, his eyes wide. “No more fencing?”

“No more fencing.”

Loki looked down again and picked at the satin coverlet. “But kings need to know how to fight. I don't have a choice.”

“Loki.” Frigga’s voice was gentle, and Loki saw something glowing from the corner of his eye. He looked over and saw a small, shining orb of swirling energy hovering in her palm. Just looking at it made him feel calmer. “Loki, I will teach you magic.”

Once more he stared at his mother. “Magic?”

She nodded. “You have a gift. I suspected it for a long time, but I wanted you to discover it first. To see what you were capable of.” She closed her palm and the energy faded. “You've learned enough martial combat skills. Dagger work and the staff, yes?” Loki nodded. “Then from now on, when your brother and his friends are off hitting each other with sticks, you will come to me to learn to control your powers. Understood?”

Loki nodded once more, his mind still on the sphere his mother had created from nothing.

Frigga reached out and picked up the book. “We begin tomorrow, then. And Loki?”

“Yes, Mother?”

She gave him a mischievous smile. “There will be no snow days with me.”

He grinned gratefully at her. Somewhere in his heart, Loki knew he wouldn't want one.

The End


End file.
